It's nearing dusk, so it's hard to see what's along the Fossil Trail at South Dakota's Badlands National Park. Interpretive panels tell of prehistoric pigs, three-toed horses and camel-like creatures that once lived here. A couple of cottontails hop across the dry, chalky terrain as if cued to twilight, surprising those of us still lingering on the boardwalk.
In this extraterrestrial landscape that can seem daunting and barren, they're a welcome sight. And as the park's last scattering of day-trip tourists exit the Hwy. 240 Badlands Loop Road, unseen birds cue up an evening serenade. I'm grateful I'm finally here to take my time and enjoy a fresh perspective on a familiar place.
I've lost count how many times I've looped through Badlands National Park throughout childhood and adulthood, snapping photos in satin 1970s shorts, 1980s Members Only jackets and Columbia fleece. We've seen weathered buttes and sharp red peaks in drizzly rain, soggy snowflakes, blistering heat and wild winds that threatened to sweep our young children into ragged ravines.
This time the goal is to linger. Stay. Soak in the scenery.
A few miles down the road, I pull over to watch buttes darken into shadowy outlines while twilight blues settle above a tangerine horizon. Night somehow softens the surroundings, and the moon — a fingernail scratch on an inky sky — shines beautifully in its sparseness.
Cedar Pass Lodge, the park's lodging since 1928, makes it more tempting than ever to spend the night. A major renovation in the past few years now offers visitors two dozen new cabins with mini-fridges, microwaves, a coffeemaker, log furniture, cushy pillows, quilts and a back porch for savoring the pinnacled sight of Cedar Pass. They're homey and equipped enough to pull together picnic meals for daily hikes or simple suppers at the end of the day.
The actual Cedar Lodge contains an impressive gift shop with items such as regional wines and wagon wheel furniture, plus the national park's sole place to dine. The restaurant serves its signature Indian tacos with all the fixings heaped onto fry bread and more upscale dinners such as elk medallions and buffalo ribeye. The decor is basic, but the line of windows frames up Cedar Pass, where everyone gazes as they eat.
I'm up by 6 a.m. the next day, scrambling out the door to catch what photographers dub the "golden hour." Four people wander the Door Trail, bleary-eyed, expectant and eager to see dawn brighten the Badlands. I venture off the boardwalk in search of a better spot to frame the view.